


DAI: NPC Ficlets

by RogueLioness



Series: DAI: NPC Ficlets [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Other, POV: NPC, Short Drabbles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-14
Updated: 2018-06-20
Packaged: 2019-05-23 08:28:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14930747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RogueLioness/pseuds/RogueLioness
Summary: The Inquisition, as seen by minor in-game characters.





	1. Giles

****

**Giles**

He’d lived in the Hinterlands all his life - like his father, and his father’s father, and all the men before him - content enough to till and tend to the land, to coax it to grow the food they needed.

It wasn’t difficult, the farming; the land was fertile, ready to nourish whatever one threw into it.

He knew the land as intimately as the sun-spots on his wife’s face, Maker rest her soul. Those who thought it a peaceful existence were mistaken - and those who thought to try and tame the Hinterlands soon paid the price for their foolhardy attempts.

“It was first just the weather and the wildlife - bears foraging for food as they fattened up for hibernation, wolves that raided our livestock, even the ravens and the magpies who would pluck the seeds clean from the earth - all dangerous to a farmer’s livelihood. There were the occasional attacks too, but only if you was drunk enough to wander around looking for them.

At some point of time the bandits arrived - and settled in. No one knew where they came from, but they made their presence known. Old man McDonald, three farms away, poor man lost his young son to them, and for what? The poor lad hadn’t had three coppers in his purse at the time. Bleedin’ shame. Arl Teagan, he tries to run them off, but that don’t help much.”

He’d seen troubled times - sometimes he’d say he’d been through more than his fair share of them - but he had to admit even the worst of what he’d experienced came nowhere close to the current state of affairs.

“Times were rough, but they weren’t mad. Not till the Maker-damned war. Mages with their fireballs and their blasts of ice, destroying everything in their path. Not that the templars were any better, mind you, with their shiny, sharpened swords slicing through whoever was unfortunate enough to stand in their path. Mage-sympathizers, they claimed; Maker knows Margaret barely knew enough about mages to be called one, all she’d done was ask those starving young children if they’d wanted some food. Who’d have known they were mages? Those young’uns couldn’t defend themselves from a ram, let alone a templar. And she ended up with a blade in her throat for the trouble.

World’s gone mad, now. Demons pouring out of the sky, and no one seems to care. All these refugees, looking for safety - and there ain’t any. No place to go around here anymore, not unless you looking to end up dead. These Crossroads, they used to be safe ground, but the war’s crept up here, too. We lost the healer the other day - caught in the crossfire of a mage spell. Too many wounded now, and not enough supplies. Maker willing, the Inquisition’ll make this place safe again.”


	2. Refugee Hunter

**Refugee Hunter**

He seemed to be fairly young, but there was a hardness in his eyes and a set to his jaw that spoke of hardships endured. Eloquence did not seem to be his forte, but there was a refreshing bluntness to the way he spoke. A skilled hunter, self-taught, he hailed from one of the many now-destroyed farms in the Hinterlands. There was a great deal of bitterness in his words, but given all that he has seen one could hardly blame him.

“This used to be a safe place, filled with happy folk. Never heard of anyone go hungry when the neighbor’s pantry was full. That’s what we do, see, we look out for each other. My da’s given away whole rack of rams to folks who had a lean harvest. If we don’t care for our own then who will?

Then the mages and the templars came. The things I seen them do-”

He shuddered, his statement left hanging. His eyes clouded over with memories that appeared to have overwhelmed him. He took a deep breath, and squared his shoulders against some invisible force, and continued.

“Was out hunting, once. Up in the hills, near Lake Luthias. I saw some refugees. Don’t know where they came from, but they were headed towards Redcliffe. A tired, sorry group, the lot of them, all hunched and bent over like old men. I said nothing, I was on the trail. Was about to leave, when the templars came.”

A cold fire sparked in his eyes, his face flushed red with remembered rage.

“The templars talked to the refugees. They hit them. The refugees, they gave them food. Gave all they had. Then the mages came, they used fire. Everyone burned.”

The hunter’s hands clenched into fists, his fingers searched for arrows that were not there. What he had seen had clearly left guilt in its wake, but it was a general consensus that there was nothing that the young lad could have done that could have altered the outcome of that interaction.

“I was in a bush, they did not see me. Some templars, they killed some mages. The other mages ran. The templars ran after them, but one remained. A refugee reached out for him. He was still burning. The templar- his sword- up and down it went, up and down, again and again. There was red, so much. Red and black. He didn’t clean his sword after. He took things from bodies.”

He was close to breaking down, but he turned down offers to change the topic. Talking of his experience to someone else was cathartic, and he did not want to lose the opportunity.

“There was a body. Still moving. Long hair, and a burned dress. It- she- was crying. The templar- he- he- he started to take off his armor.

I couldn’t take any more. I shot him. I’m glad I did, too. I’d do it again if I had to.

Andraste’s tears, that poor woman. I went down to her. She- she made- noises. Little ones. She looked at me. Then she died. I wanted to help her. Mother Valerie says there was nothing I could have done. That they are all with the Maker now.”

He looked out at the Crossroads, at the gaunt faces and hopeless eyes.

“We ran out of bread two nights ago. I would’ve gone hunting - plenty of ram around, and no lords to get you for poaching - but it was too dangerous. Templars and mages, bandits and demons, too many things out there ready to kill you. The Inquisition - that woman they call Herald of Andraste - she spoke to me. Asked if there was anything she could do. I told her about the hungry bellies, and the rams in the hills. She just nodded, told me to stay safe.

‘That won’t help fill these bellies,’ I told her, and that was that.

She returned that evening, hauling about a dozen dead rams behind her. Gave them to me without a word, just smiled and nodded at the pot on the fire.

I thought this madness was here to stay - but the Inquisition gives me hope. That Herald of Andraste - she’s a right sort. She’ll do good.”


	3. Hyndel Sr.

****

****

**Hyndel Sr.**

Melinor paced restlessly in and out of the entrance to the tiny ramshackle hut. Most of his attention seemed to be on his wife, who was asleep on the bed, her breathing soft and even. **  
**

When he spoke, he sounded apologetic, a tired, somewhat sheepish smile on his face.

“My wife has trouble breathing at times. Like cobwebs in the lungs, she says. Our son Hyndel, he makes a potion that helps, but he’s gone to join those cultists in the hills-”

He shook his head, and sighed.

“He’s a young lad, filled with fear in these troubled times. Who isn’t? But there’s nothing his mother or I can say to make him see that the world isn’t ending. We were here during the siege of Redcliffe, when the undead rose each night. We were here during the Blight. Mythal’s tears, we’ve seen much that didn’t make sense. The right thing to do is to stay and help, even if Master Dennet and his wife sent us away for our own safety.”

He looked around at the many refugees huddled around a brightly blazing fire.

“The ones from Southmere managed to reach Redcliffe village, last I heard. These ones weren’t so lucky. Came from Wutherford, so they say, up by the docks of Lake Calenhad. Their Maker’s own luck that they managed to escape the fighting between the Circle Tower mages and templars. I don’t envy the poor sods. Imagine having to flee your own home to escape the war, only to find yourself in the middle of the very same war in a different place. That’s what Hyndel doesn’t understand. Running away doesn’t always help. Those people, keeping themselves locked away safely in Winterwatch Tower - they walk around and moan about how their Maker is ending the world, but they’re not doing much to help their fellow men, are they? I wonder what their Maker thinks of that.”

His wife stirred, muttering indecipherably in her sleep, and he rushed over to her side. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he gently helped her upright, and uncorked a bottle by the bedside before bringing it to her lips. The potion administered, he let her rest again, pulling the sheets over her sleeping form and making sure she was well tucked in. Once he was sure she was sleeping easy, he turned back and continued the conversation.

“I’d rather my son followed the likes of the Inquisition and its Herald. Quiet woman, soft-spoken she was, went around the Crossroads talking to everyone. Didn’t say much to me either, just asked me about my wife. Told her about the potion, but I figured it was a slim chance I’d get it. Seemed like she had more important business to take care of, what with the mages and templars and bandits prowling around the Hinterlands.”

At the mention of the Herald, his face shifted into a look of admiration. “I was wrong about her. She came back that evening, loaded with ram meat for all of us, supplies from Creators-knows-where, and the potion my Saewen needed.”

He fell into a thoughtful silence.

“I hope her Maker keeps her safe. We need good hearts like hers.”


	4. Lisette

****

****

**Lisette**

She’s got a little frown on her face, her eyes scanning the grounds for anyone who might need help. “Haven’s got too many people, and too little space,” she explains brusquely, satisfied that everything seems to be in order for now. “That means not enough resources, but it also means we all do what we can to help.”

When she’s asked if she’s part of the Inquisition, she nods. “Aye, I am,” is her determined response, much to the dismay of a young man standing nearby. “See reason Lisette,” he implores. “We do not belong her. We are templars!”

“And what does that even mean?” she barks at him, before turning back to continue her initial response. “I was part of the Templar Order,” she explains, “though not important enough to get anywhere near the Temple of Sacred Ashes. When it exploded, I survived because I was rescued by Inquisition forces. My life is a debt I intend to repay.” She briefly exits the conversation, walking away to help a bewildered-looking family. She’s soft-voiced, with a patient smile on her face as she guides them to where they need to go to get the aid they need.

“Look at this chaos,” she remarks when she returns, half-angry, half-sad. “So many lost souls, so many injured and fearful, and each one of them seeking sanctuary. Where are the templars now, when the people need them the most? The Chantry bickers over the Inquisition, claims that the Herald of Andraste cannot do anything about the Breach in the sky, but the Inquisition and the Herald have done more for the people over the past week than the Chantry has done ever since the destruction of the Conclave!” She shakes her head, defeated. “The Chantry - the templars - have failed the people they were meant to serve. I cannot live with my conscience if I do the same.”

Her eyes scan the grounds again, a fierceness in them. “No,” she murmurs, almost to herself. “I’m part of the Inquisition now, and proud of it. I’m here to help, just as they are.”


End file.
